by Adrian, Lara
Micah watched them for a moment, trying to ignore the pang of guilt he felt for dodging Phaedra. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but damn if he wasn’t acting like one with her.
She had saved his life—twice, by his count. Last night, she’d saved the lives of three of his friends. And then she’d topped off that miracle by giving him the incredible gift of her body. She had given him the honor of her pleasure, uninhibited, and so fucking honest, he would never be able to lay with another woman without comparing everything to Phaedra.
At the very least, he owed her a few words before she was gone from his life forever.
Her guest room was just down the hallway from Jenna and Brock’s quarters.
The door was open, as it had been the last time he’d stood there. At first, he didn’t see her. Then she stepped out of the walk-in closet with an empty hanger in her hand, about to make her way over to her travel bag that sat open on the bed.
She froze when she saw him. “Micah.”
“Hello, Phaedra.” He forced himself to stay outside the room, no matter how strong the urge was to get close to her. He’d already done enough of that, and seeing her soft expression as she stared at him now was only inviting more trouble. He cleared his throat. “I’m on my way to meet with Lucan, so I’ve only got a minute.”
“Okay.” A hesitant smile played at the edge of her lips. “Would you like to come in?”
“No.”
It was a lie and then some. He tried not to notice the look of stung confusion that crept into her eyes as he stood there, unmoving on the other side of the threshold. It was the right thing to do. Especially when everything male inside him craved nothing more than a further taste of her.
He didn’t need any stronger reason to keep his boots planted where they were than the flare of arousal licking through him as he stared at Phaedra.
“I came by because I wanted to apologize for last night.”
“Apologize?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I know you think I’m incapable, but when I’m wrong, I do own up for it. What I did last night with you was wrong. I wanted you, Phaedra. Fuck, I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you in that Deadlands forest. But it was wrong to give in to that desire. It was selfish, and I truly am sorry for that.”
She set down the hanger she’d been holding and slowly crossed the room to approach him. “I don’t want an apology. I’m not sorry for last night.”
She stepped closer, until there was barely an arm’s length between them. Her sweet fragrance engulfed him, put his senses into a tailspin. Even out of reach, he could feel the warmth of her skin. He could smell sunshine in her upswept hair.
Another step brought her right in front of him, and it was all he could do not to touch the satin softness of her bared neck where her pulse fluttered. His gums prickled with the stirring of his fangs. He ground his molars together, fighting the temptation to taste that ticking vein, along with all of the other impossible urges he had where she was concerned.
Her pretty mouth curved with a small smile. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Micah. I’ve never felt so alive as I did last night with you.”
He groaned, low in his throat. He had been hoping she’d make this easier on him—tell him she’d made a terrible mistake letting him anywhere near her, scream at him to stay the fuck away from her, or maybe slam the door in his face as soon as she saw him standing there.
He had been prepared for her outrage or contempt. She’d be justified in either one. He’d even been prepared for her tears and recriminations.
But not this.
Steeling himself to her sweetness was more difficult than facing off against an army of enemies. She looked so beautiful as she waited for his reply, so damn vulnerable. She was an ageless, powerful being, yet she stood before him with an uncertainty in her gentle eyes that said he could break her with a careless word.
He blew out a curse, raking his hand over his head. “Being with you was amazing. I’m not going to say it wasn’t. But it shouldn’t have happened. It was on me to keep my distance, and I fucked that up.”
“Micah, that’s not what I wanted—”
“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he snapped, needing to say the words quickly, before he caved to the urge to draw her into his arms. “I can’t tell you I regret a second of what we did, because I don’t.”
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“Fuck. I don’t know.” His head jammed up with all the things he couldn’t say to her. How extraordinary he thought she was. What a jackass he’d been with her from the start. How sadistic fate must be to throw them together the way they had been, with their lives on two opposite paths—hers, waiting for her back in Rome, and his on a battlefield that was only getting bloodier and deadlier by the hour.
That’s why it could only end now, before he waded any deeper into his caring for her. The best thing that could happen to either one of them now was for Phaedra to be as far away from him as possible.
He gave a harsh shake of his head. “I guess I’m just here to say goodbye.”
She tilted her head, her brow creasing with her frown. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“I’m not leaving. Zael and Brynne just told me a few minutes ago.”
“What do mean you’re not leaving? Why not?”
The confusion drained from her expression as she stared at him, replaced by something else. Something that looked a lot like pain. “I have to stay here. When I shielded everyone in the alley, I also exposed my location to Selene and all the rest of my people. I’ll be a target now, and some might try to use me as a weapon against the Order. Lucan has decided, and Zael agrees, the safest thing for everyone is for me to stay here, under the protection of the Order.”
“Holy shit.”
He gaped at her, alarm spiking through him as he processed what he was hearing. She hadn’t been packing to leave; she had been ordered to stay. Because of him. Phaedra was in danger now because she’d helped him and his friends. That selfless act had put a bullseye on her back. Micah’s blood ran cold at the thought of anyone going after her.
Selene. Her legion of loyal guards. Opus.
The list was too long, and too lethal.
Now he understood Lucan’s summoning him to his study. Micah wouldn’t be surprised if the Order’s shrewd leader didn’t already have some inkling of the attraction boiling out of control between Phaedra and him. Hell, his father probably had some choice words waiting for him too—not only as a parent, but as one of the Order’s top commanders.
“Fuck.” Micah let the curse explode out of him. “I have to go.”
“You’re disappointed.” Phaedra took a step back. “No, you’re more than disappointed.”
He scowled. “I’m pissed at myself. For last night, for letting things get so out of control between us. For the fact that you had to risk yourself to help me and my friends. I’m pissed at myself for the way you’re looking at me right now. I never should’ve let any of it happen.”
A quiet breath fell from her lips. “Oh. I see. Now I’m beginning to understand. You only wanted me because you thought I was leaving.”
He stood there mutely as she moved farther away from him. He wouldn’t lie to her and say that hadn’t been part of what allowed him to give in to his need for her. But he would have wanted her regardless of whether she left or stayed.
He wanted her even now.
To keep from reaching out to her, he fisted his hands at his sides. He clamped his jaw tight in order to keep from saying things to reassure her. Things that would only make it harder for him to keep his distance now that she would be living under the same roof with him for God only knew how long.
His comm unit buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t have to look to know it was Lucan.
Phaedra continued to stare at him, a firmness settling into her proud chin. That’s how he knew she was really hurt. The tender, open-hearted kindness that was
so much a part of her began to shutter as the moments passed and the drone of his incoming summons continued to pulse in the silence between them.
She blinked, and he caught a glimpse of the formidable immortal that was also part of the special woman he’d just wounded.
“You’d better go now, Micah. You obviously have more important things to do.”
She reached for the door and slowly closed it between them.
CHAPTER 17
On a sigh, Jenna closed her eyes, sinking into the tub of warm water and frothy suds Brock had drawn for her in their quarters.
The worst of her lightheadedness had passed, but she couldn’t seem to shake the strange buzzing sensation that had taken up residence in her skull. For the past week, it had been a nearly constant companion, as if a hive of bees had gotten inside her cranium and were checking out the place.
Considering all of the other “unadvertised specials” that came with the tiny piece of alien biotechnology the Ancient had embedded inside the back of her neck, this latest development seemed like more of an annoyance than cause for alarm.
Even still, it was beginning to drive her a little batty.
Brock’s strong palm lighted gently against the side of her face as he took a seat on the edge of the tub while she soaked. “How’s the water?”
“Perfect.” She opened her eyes and found him gazing down at her in concern.
“Do you want me to take the buzzing away?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m okay, I promise.”
Her big, tough mate who was so skilled at combat and lethal force was also gifted with the ability to soothe human pain with his touch.
Although she was evolving into something very different from basic Homo sapiens since the attack she’d suffered a couple of decades ago, at her core she was still human. And no less head-over-heels in love with the handsome Breed male currently stroking his thumb over her cheek.
Brock’s dark brown eyes held her with so much tender affection it made her heart skip a beat. She turned her face into his caress and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.
“Why don’t you join me in here?”
His gaze flared with amber sparks. “You know I’ll never turn down an invitation to get naked with you. But first you need to close those pretty peepers and relax for a little while. You’ve been putting in a lot of hours in the archive room. Maybe it’s catching up with you.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s probably it.”
He reached around her to pick up a fluffy terrycloth towel, folding it into a pillow for her. He placed it behind her head, then leaned down and kissed her. “I’ll come back and check on you in fifteen minutes. I’m right outside if you need anything.”
She nodded, practically purring as he traced the pattern of an alien dermaglyph that swirled and looped around her breast.
Settling back against the large soaking tub, she watched him get up and leave, his long-legged stride carrying him back into the spacious living area of their private residential quarters.
Brock was right, she probably was spending too much time working on her journals and diagrams lately. It was hard to explain to him or anyone else the obsessive kind of determination she had to record everything she saw in her visions. It was as much an outlet for her to try to make sense of the memories she saw through the Ancient’s eyes, as it was a compulsion to give the Order and their future generations an understanding of who their otherworlder fathers had been—even if those truths weren’t always easy for them to hear.
Life . . . or death?
The words came to her like a ghost from the past, the voice deep and airless. Inhuman.
She hadn’t heard that airless growl in years, yet it was one she would never forget. It filtered into her head now as if the creature from her nightmarish ordeal in Alaska were standing right next to her now. She knew that was impossible. The Ancient was dead. His words were only an echo across time, like the memories he’d left planted inside her.
Life . . . or death? How it shall end depends on you.
She hadn’t understood what he was asking of her in those terrifying moments before he removed the alien bit of biotechnology from his arm, then held it out to her with an impossible choice.
Life or death? You must decide right now.
Jenna closed her eyes and slid down into the soapy water, submerging her head in the hopes it might douse the Ancient’s voice and ease the odd sensation still droning in her skull. She popped back up a moment later, sluicing the suds off her face.
She’d left a washcloth on the edge of the tub somewhere. Eyes shut, she reached out blindly with her hand to search for it.
Instead, she felt the sudsy water and tub disappear and her fingers closed around the cold grip of a four-foot blade she now carried at her side.
No, not her fingers.
Not her blade.
She opened her eyes and found herself alone in the dark, moving through the middle of a dense boreal forest. Frost-coated leaves crunched underfoot, the ground hard with the coming of winter. A frigid wind blew through the branches of tall pines and spruces, making her breath steam as it rolled through her parted lips.
Not her lips. His.
The Ancient who had altered her life completely all those years ago.
Like a video reel of his memories playing in her senses, she got a front row seat to random snippets of his life and the things he did while he lived, from the mundane to the sadistic and everything in between.
This was a new one.
He trudged through the tight clusters of trees, heading somewhere with purpose. Overhead, a thin crescent moon hung in the cold, cloudless night sky as the sound of his brisk footsteps stirred small animals to bolt from their shelters and scatter into the underbrush.
He moved deeper into the forest, his gaze trained on a peculiar formation of dark boulders several hundred yards ahead in the darkness. As he neared it, his pace slowed to a stop. Blade in hand, he pivoted to scan his surroundings, his preternatural gaze piercing the taiga, searching for signs of trouble or evidence that he was being followed.
Nothing but silence answered.
Not the halfling sons they had sired, only to have the bastards scorn them as monsters and begin to turn on them as enemies.
There was nothing around him but endless dark, and the bracing wind.
Sheathing his blade, he swung back around to approach a large formation of giant rocks that jutted out from the uneven ground. One of the boulders, the bulkiest of the group, stood taller than even his seven-foot height. It was that one he went to, pausing in front of it. He pressed his large, glyph-covered hand against the stone. A vibration hummed beneath his palm and fingers, and Jenna realized it was taking a reading of his DNA.
With only the subtlest shift in the air, the entire rock formation vanished. In its place was an enormous craft that was nothing of this Earth. One end of the huge ship had suffered severe damage. Irreparable, by the look of it.
The Ancient pressed his palm to another panel on the exterior of the craft and waited for the lock to release. A large hatch lifted. He ducked beneath it to step inside.
The interior was sleek and bare and cool, with corridors going in several directions. He followed one that led deeper into the ship. He paid no attention to the banks of lifeless controls and nonfunctioning monitors.
There was no need, after all. The vehicle that had carried him and seven other scouting conquerors from the dark planet they called home would never make another journey again. Those who had survived the crash that dropped them on this primitive rock centuries earlier were marooned here forever now.
Forced to skulk in the shadows like vermin while the sun baked the planet a full half of every day.
They should have been kings here, as they were back home.
Instead they were hostages of the light.
He moved farther inside, heading for the section of the craft where a collection of eight l
ong containers were situated. Several of the pods were empty, their clear lids left open. The two others held the bodies of the crew mates they had lost to the killing sun’s rays shortly after their arrival.
Long accustomed to their presence, he hardly glanced in their direction. Instead, he moved to the ship’s command center, where he tapped a darkened dashboard panel. It was here that the heart of the craft continued to beat. The technology powering this last surviving system was robust enough to outlast all life on Earth, but the primitive life forms existing here could not be allowed to have it.
Neither could the race of otherworlders who had also claimed a corner of this planet as their own. Atlanteans, they called themselves. Light-worshipping immortals whom he and his comrades intended to hunt into extinction.
They had already made significant strides in that direction.
His people would not rest until they had finished them all, including their queen.
And if it seemed he and his comrades might fail in that mission, they had agreed on a final solution.
He tapped a panel on the wide dashboard and a familiar diagram illuminated below the glass. His fingers moved over the schematic in a specific pattern, leaving a trail of light where his touch had been. It was a code he was entering, some kind of sequence.
A detonation sequence.
After he was finished, he glanced at his forearm. Beneath his glyph-covered skin, a rice-sized object lit up with a pulsing, bright glow that echoed the one still beating like a living heart on the dashboard.
The Ancient’s interest moved on to something else now. The press of his palm unlocked a small compartment of the console beside him. It opened for him, exposing a container the size of a child’s lunchbox.
Its sturdy, silver metal sides gleamed, and he handled it as if it were made of fragile glass.
He lifted the lid, his low chuckle the only sound in the silence of the ruined ship.
Inside the box rested a pair of egg-shaped crystals infused with unearthly, mercurial light.
Enough energy to destroy Atlantis. Enough to wipe out all existence on Earth.
